Perhaps Another Close Call is Needed
by Ink11
Summary: Well I don't know about you, but I am not happy with the NCIS we're getting lately. So this is my attempt at writing an NCIS tale the good old fashioned way, and possibly getting somewhere with it! Or maybe not... It's engaging, anyway, if you want an NCIS yarn to distract you for a while. Not sure where I'm going with it, but I'm a Tiva fan!


**A/N: Helloooo! The intro is a little long-winded, but I hope you enjoy it. If there are reviews I will continue it. If not… well, then I will feel sad. **

**Don't own anything but this particular story 3 And also my one-way romance with Michael Weatherly.**

Sunlight. The open window let in light that sliced through my eyes and split down my head. It hurt like hell but I was determined not to fall asleep again, so I kept them open.

I struggled to turn around, since I was lying on my stomach with my hands tied behind me and a tight, rough and dirty rag pulled across my mouth and knotted behind my head. Now I remember unconsciously looking for Ziva. Who wouldn't want a ninja buddy in the room when you're chained up and probably seriously malnourished and dehydrated?

My head was organizing itself train-wreck style, so instead of trying to remember what had happened, I focused on something simple. I looked at the wall in front of me and saw the window, where that horrible light was coming from. My eyes finally adjusted and I could make out a concrete wall and a few pipes running across the ceiling. The window was close to the top of the room, so I eventually pieced together that I must've been in a basement.

My head pounded when I tried to roll over again, but this time I let it and forced myself to look around. I felt like puking when I saw her and McGee, looking worse that I felt. They were chained to the wall with their arms above their heads, but sitting on the floor. McGee's nice clothes were all ruffled and dirty, and he has this long scratch from his temple to his chin. It looked a little out of place on McGeek, but still, he could pull it off. If it left a scar he'd be one bad ass with the ladies.

I could barely take in Ziva. I'd hoped I'd never see her like she was in Somalia again. She was worse off that McGee, probably because she put up a hell of a fight. Most of her looked unbroken, but when I looked closer I saw a long rip in her shirt on the side and a deep scratch. It looked like her left arm, on the opposite side, had been grazed by a bullet. I'll admit, that made my breath catch a little. She had bruises in seemingly random places as well.

I thought about taking inventory on myself when the pain finally hit me. It was like a Gibbs death stare combined with being dumped, but in physical form. I clenched my teeth to try and stop a moan, thinking maybe Ziva and Tim were sleeping. Unfortunately another wave hit me and I let out what sounded to me like a very girly scream. Thank god they didn't wake up. Tim would never let me hear the end of it.

Of course the scream made sense a while later when I looked down and saw my insides spilling out everywhere. Okay, well, not exactly. I'll admit that's a little dramatic. Ziva would've laughed so hard if she'd seen this.

It was more like a lot of blood and a lot of places with no skin. They'd taken my shirt off, probably so I'd have a healthy amount of crap in my open wounds. It killed once I realized it was there, and it was hard to stifle the screams after a while. I managed, with a quite large amount of difficulty and tongue biting, to roll onto my back. I panted there for a while and looked down again, a little nauseas at what I saw. Two of my ribs were definitely broken, and there was a large absence of skin on the left side of my rib cage and the parts in between. It looked like I'd been bludgeoned with something heavy, yet quite sharp.

A few minutes passed and I realized Ziva was staring at me.

I almost grinned, if you can believe it. "Hey sleeping beauty," I said, panting still. "You finally came to,"

She cracked a bit of a smile but her eyes give everything away. She was worried, and was trying not to let me see it. "Finally? McGee and I were awake a few hours ago. You are the sleeping one,"

I frowned and looked at the window again. "Any idea how… long we've been down here?" It was getting more and more difficult to breath and or talk without screaming, probably due to the ribs. There was a pitiful little table between Ziva and I, and I put together that she could see my head and shoulders, as well as my legs. My chest and stomach were hidden just so. Perfection.

She looked to the window as well, squinting. "Judging by the sun it's been about an hour since McGee and I were awake. I believe we were drugged. I don't know how much time has passed between then and now,"

She tried to subtly get a look at me. "How badly are you hurt?" She said. I knew better than to lie in this kind of situation. Honesty counts when trying to escape a labyrinth of a prison in the middle of a desert. But I couldn't escape the feeling I couldn't have Ziva worrying about me either.

"Ahh… well, you know… I can't… see any guts," I said vaguely. "You?"

She glared. "Tony,"

"Two of my ribs are… broken, I think… ah…" I tried to disguise my gasps of pain as ums, but she was definitely catching on. "…definitely… less skin in that area… than there should be.. ahh, and… that's it. Your turn,"

"I was grazed on my left arm… I've got an open wound on my right side,"

"How did that happen?" I asked.

She frowned. "You do not remember?"

"No. Refresh me."

"We entered as planned… something, or someone must've tripped an alarm or notified the security because there were guards everywhere in a matter of seconds… I was thrown into a steel radiator. That is how I got the cut,"

My memory came crawling back. I remembered stealing down that dark tunnel. I remembered seeing light as Ziva pushed back the drain cover. We climbed up the ladder after her, and entered what looked like the basement. And then Ziva saw the movement near one of the two staircases. I saw McGee raise his gun and I did the same. Two guards went down. One of them got hold of McGee. A guard kicked my gun out of my hand, so instead of shooting him I threw myself at him and McGee wriggled away… I was pulled off. In that moment each of my arms was held steady and a very muscular guy threw something into my stomach… something hot, and metal.

I wasn't scraped; I was burned. I guess I missed the crispy edges.

"I remember," I said slowly.

"After they blindfolded me, I assume they knocked you out McGee was captured as well. Then they brought us here," She finished.

McGee raised his head. "Ahh… did I fall asleep?" He noticed me. "Oh good, you're awake,"

With a pang I watched his eyes widen. "What the hell happened to you?" he yelped.

I looked down again. Blood was all over the floor and I realized one of my broken ribs was actually showing. There were gashes on my legs.

"Y'know, I… actually… don…don't recall those,"

Ziva was fidgeting with her bracelets. She lifted herself up so her head was next to her hands and pulled something out of her hair.

"Did they seriously not take your hair pins away?" McGee asked, incredulous.

Ziva chuckled. Her hands were freed and she moved to McGee.

Any second she would come over here and look at the damage. Crap, was all I thought.

McGee was free. My mind was slowing down again. I fought to keep my eyes open. Ziva and McGee went in and out of focus as they made their way to me.

"This is way more than some skin missing, Tony!" Ziva snapped. She told McGee to take off his shirt and I laughed, which made me want to scream.

They started sounding far away. McGee's gross shirt was pressed against my bloody chest and at that point I think I did scream. Then I was out.

"He's losing consciousness again, McGee," Ziva told me. She swiped my shirt from me and pressed it into Tony, who let out the most pitiful scream. His eyes were half closed and bloodshot, and his head fell to one side with a pained expression.

"Are you sure this is the best idea?" I said.

"It is better for him to be in pain and unconscious then bleed to death, yes?" She said quickly, taking off her shirt as well.

He looked disgusting. A bone that had probably snapped and was past repair had bent and thrust out of his skin. And that whole time he'd been carrying on as if it were another day at the office. I looked to Ziva. Though I'd gathered plenty of my own skills in this kind of situation over the years, I owed most of my knowledge to my team, and chose still to ask for Ziva's lead.

I wasn't afraid; Tony has the curious ability to make light of any situation, and it seems to serve as a spring board for getting out of tough spots. But Ziva was worried; I could see the gears turning, working out an escape plan. But behind that, she was carefully taping down her feelings for our partner. There were few things she hated more than Tony in trouble. I think his offhandedness irked her.

"There is nothing else we can do for now but wait for a chance to grab weapons. Tony cannot fight…"

"So we'll wait until the door's opened…"

"And make it look as though we are still bound. If there are more than two, we abort,"

"Will we carry him? Or we could drag him…"

"We should not move him, McGee." Ziva murmured, staring at Tony with serious eyes. I looked at her, incredulous.

"Are you saying we should stay here?"

"We can thin them out if we take them down as they enter. We can use the table and chair as cover,"

I thought about it. Depending on how many men there were, and what kind of guns and ammo we got our hands on, we'd most likely be out-gunned in a matter of minutes.

"It's crazy."

"It's our only chance,"

"…You don't think Gibbs'll find us?"

She looked up at me slowly, sadly. "McGee. Why would he even know we were missing?"

I knew his shallow breathing was especially dangerous due to his badly scarred lungs, but I didn't mention that to McGee. It would not have been helpful to our mission.

Thoughts like that rarely enter my mind lately. Helpful to the mission. Self sacrifice. NCIS does not function like Mossad. At NCIS a team shares everything. A team works as a whole, a single heart beat, a single train of thought. And that is why it is so dangerous to work with Tony.

But I was not fully on NCIS mode at that moment. I had one hand on home, and one hand on my Mossad training, planted deep in my soul. So instinct told me to keep quiet.

McGee was already moving. I shook my head and rose to join him at our shackles.

The door was creaking open just as we slipped into the bracelets.

"So I says to 'er, 'Why not just buy it yourself?' And she's all, 'That's not the point!'" I raised an eyebrow internally. He was a big man, whose footsteps made the floor shake. He was also American, which was strange seeing as we were far from home.

The other man, who by the sounds of his thin laugh and noiseless tread was rather small, came near me. I suppose he must have squatted down, because I could feel his disgusting breath on me.

"They will wake up soon," This man had a thick Turkish accent. That was more like it. I was grabbed by the jaw, my mouth forced open, and a bottle tipped into it. I took the liquid to the back of my mouth and stored it there, fighting the urge to spit in his face, which I imagined pinched and ugly. I hoped McGee did the same.

"What happened to him?" said the American. I heard the Turk move to Tony and dared not move.

"Richard threw the wood stove at him," the Turk sighed. My mind spat out a list of effects from bad burns.

"Well, we can't have him dying, can we?"

"Isilak said to leave him. That way we know they will not try an escape."

"Well why don't we just have the docs take a look? He'll still be here just the same."

The Turk thought about it. He must have nodded. The American radioed a medical team, and I heard the clank of stretcher wheels hitting the ground. The medical team left. With Tony. McGee and I jumped to our feet, and I first took the time to spit in the Turk's face.

McGee took the Turk and I gave a roundhouse kick to the American. He was out. McGee had the Turk at the point of his own gun. I slipped the American's weapon out of his holster, and we flew.

"Which way did they take him?"

"I do not know, I couldn't tell by ear," McGee looked at me expectantly. I suppose this was more of my area of expertise.

I looked both ways, my mind racing. _Just choose one, Ziva, it makes no difference but time. _

"Right!" I said, and McGee took the lead. My gashes hurt, but the pain was completely bearable. If this was my chance to pay Tony back, I would make use of it.

We dashed down a dimly lit corridor of dirty yellow walls, making sure we checked each window for Tony. The sounds of a fire fight grew louder as we rounded a third turn. If this was not where Tony was, it would be a long way back. There was not a question of leaving him.

Apparently the firefight caught someone else's attention. Two guards burst through a door behind us as we rounded another corner. We saw light ahead, and I'm ashamed to say at this point we did not think of our partner, but of escape.

We burst through double doors and were momentarily blinded by light. Gibbs. He had found us. I never should have doubted him. Then there was a SWAT team, and he tucked us away behind their shields. Bullets surrounded us. We were yanked by the shirt collars onto a helicopter. The SWAT team was leaving too, on their own black helicopters, like beetles or smooth pebbles thrown into the air. They shot as they went. I wondered what Tony was seeing from his helicopter. Would he live? Did they have enough to keep him going until we arrived at the airport in Germany?

I don't know how many hours passed. McGee had passed out, clearly not able to spit out the poison. Two EMRT men were examining him, and one fussed around me with bandages and gauze. I let him tape my wounds. We were done, after all. Healing time.

We set down at Berlin and I was feeling faint. Gibbs scolded me for not sleeping, and I suppose he had a right to. We hustled through the airport to the private area, where a federal craft awaited us. Tony would be excited.

I remember walking to the small plane beside McGee's stretcher. Then I was being lifted by Gibbs and plopped on a very comfortable pull-out bed. I tried to keep my eyes open for Tony, but the buzz of engines was somehow soothing and lulled me into a deep, slightly restless sleep. I dreamed I was home in Washington, and Tony was there. Then he fell off my balcony.

I sat up as if I were fired from a gun. I even heard a crack. Through a little arched doorway I saw Vance and a familiar NCIS agent, and a red haired woman my mind twisted into Jenny before I was fully awake. My vision cleared slowly. My head ached from sleeping on a thin yellow pillow. McGee was positioned across the aisle from me, slumbering peacefully. I got to my feet and floated past reddish curtains into the sitting area.

"Agent David. Nice to see you awake," Vance said, with that odd partial smile he has.

I didn't respond. My hair was curly, I noticed. It hadn't been this way in five years.

"Where is Tony?" I said eventually, ignoring the strange looks from the strangers.

Vance looked at the two; an agent I liked named Gaff and a familiar looking woman beside him. He looked bad at me. I tensed. Something was very wrong.

"He's back in Turkey. Gibbs is getting him," Vance said evenly.

I thought about this. "What?"

"We had no choice, David. We were outgunned. They're going in again tomorrow,"

"Excuse me, but did anybody think to ask the _condition _of Agent DiNozzo before making the decision to _try again tomorrow?_"

"Agent McGee informed us-"

"Agent _McGee_ can shove it up his ass! How dare you leave an agent behind without knowing the situation?"

"Agent David. Sit down,"

"Why is it that people are always told to sit when they are being threatening?" I said.

"I-"

"Tony could die out there because of your carelessness. _I _am the one who has connections in Turkey, _I _am the one who understands the gravity of the situation! Agent DiNozzo is completely out of commission. Why was I not consulted before making this decision?"

Vance stared at me. "If you are the cause of this blowing up in our faces I promise you, you will not have my sympathy. You may even make a few enemies."

"Agent David, you are in no position to be making threats. Now sit down, before you lose your job." I felt my mind was expanding, like a very thin balloon about to pop. The amount of arrogance and bureaucracy filling the space made me short circuit. I stared at the red head in disbelief.

"Meet the Deputy Secretary of the Navy," Vance said. I did not break my stare. Deep down I knew my sudden hatred for this twit was unfounded and I was simply smothering frustration and crippling fear. But psychoanalysis would not give me the strength to find Tony. Maybe my fear, morphed into hate, would.


End file.
